


love won't wait (I won't mind)

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Felix Fraldarius, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Sylvain is 17 when he realizes that Felix Hugo Fraldarius is hot as hell. He's 25 when they kiss for the first time. He wants, more than anything, to make love to Felix.Sylvain never does.Or: the other fic where Felix is ace, Sylvain is horny, and they try to make it work.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 259





	love won't wait (I won't mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [not meant for me (never let it show)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177626) by [scatteringmyashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes). 



> Technically this is a sequel to my other fic "not meant for me (never let it show)" but honestly it stands alone. 
> 
> There is a scene where Sylvain masturbates, but it's not very explicit and he's really just Sad the whole time. 
> 
> Lastly, shout-out to Cha and Bird for beta'ing this for me! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sylvain is seventeen when he looks at Felix, who is visiting Gautier territory with his father, and thinks _oh no, he's hot._

A more accurate description would be that he sees Felix dismount from his horse, land lightly on his feet in the mud, and glare over at Sylvain, who's watching from the hastily constructed awning that got thrown up when it started to rain. Felix has been growing his hair out and it's plastered to his face and neck and his cloak is soaked through and Sylvain thinks that he would love to kiss Felix and then have Felix ride him like a horse. 

The two Fraldarius men step forward, their things collected by servants. Rodrigue shakes Wolfgang's hand. Felix ignores the small wave Sylvain gives him. 

(In the rain, he looks beautiful.) 

"Margrave Gautier, young Lord Sylvain. Thank you for your hospitality." Rodrigue grimaces. "Though not your weather. Shall we head inside?" 

Margrave Wolfgang Gautier nods. "Yes, let us discuss things. Sylvain, show Felix where he and his father will be staying. Let the real men talk first." 

Usually, Sylvain would be annoyed by his father. Now, he's thankful that he gets an excuse to grab Felix by the arm and pull him away from all the fanfare. The two make their way through the castle, exchanging general formalities and catching up. They don't really exchange letters anymore, not like they used to do.

The whole time, Sylvain tries not to stare at Felix. His hand burns where his fingers are wrapped around Felix's surprisingly thin wrist. Felix has always been smaller than Sylvain, but it occurs to him that Felix is at the perfect height to lean down and kiss. 

His lips are chapped, but Sylvain thinks that it makes them even more perfect. He wonders what they would look around his— 

"My room's down the hall and to the left. There's a washroom between your room and your father's — if you have an issue sharing, though, you can use mine." Sylvain tries not to make it sound too much like a proposition. If he succeeds or fails, well, Felix doesn't say anything. 

"Thanks." Even his voice has changed. Goddess, how long has it been? A full year? Sylvain wants to know what's changed, whether Felix is toned and hard or still soft and smooth like when they were boys. "Can't believe that we finally get to your stupid castle and it's raining." 

"Well, you did arrive in the worst season." Sylvain grins. "It just means that we have to keep ourselves entertained inside. Did I tell you about the milkmaid—" 

Felix groans. "—I don't care. I'm going to dry off, then I'm going to go train." 

Sylvain would much rather sit and chat or sit and kiss or— 

He doesn't have a chance to say anything as Felix turns around to walk into where he'll be staying. Sylvain stammers out a protest, just narrowly slipping inside before Felix can stop him. Felix rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything. They arrive before the Fraldarius baggage so Felix is reduced to grabbing some towels from off the bed and try to dry his hair. It's mesmerizing. 

The rain comes down hard outside and Sylvain thinks that it's loud enough to stop Felix from hearing his heartbeat. Felix doesn't look at him. Sylvain decides to lounge in one of the armchairs and sample the fruit platter that was set out for Felix. 

He's always enjoyed the finer things in life more than Felix, the precious details and the devil he knows rather than the devil he doesn't. Sylvain indulges himself in delights, trinkets, little distractions that don't last more than a night. Fruit is the least of his sinful ways, so he doesn't feel too bad eating the ridiculously expensive spread. It's not the season for fruit, after all. 

"So can I convince you to relax at all, or are you going to spend the whole time acting like you're going off to war?" 

"This isn't a pleasure visit," Felix points out. "My father is literally discussing border security with yours." 

Sylvain shrugs. As he's been drying off, Felix's hair has come loose. Several long strands hang down, lengths of black licorice or ivy that could strangle Sylvain while he has a smile on his face. 

"Well, doesn't mean that we can't enjoy ourselves. I know a few girls who'd be thrilled to split time between two handsome young lords…" 

Felix throws the towel at him. Sylvain laughs. 

(Thunder rumbles. A lightning strike isn't enough to shake Sylvain's but Felix's smile is.) 

#

Sylvain is twenty-five when he kisses Felix and they agree to begin courting. It's the best thing that's ever happened to Sylvain, better than acing his exams after not studying or the one time he had a threesome with the hottest circus performers to ever travel through Gautier turf. It's indescribable. 

Oh, and a few months later Dimitri becomes king of Faerghus… and the rest of Fódlan. That's important too, Sylvain guesses. 

The coronation is really nice, from an objective view. There's a band playing traditional songs and vendors giving out food and treats at discounts — all subsidized by the kingdom's coffers. Funny how winning a war and draining Enbarr as spoils of war helped replenish what was lost. Nobles are dressed up, commoners are dressed up, and everyone is crowding the streets of Fhirdiad to hopefully get even a glimpse of the new king as he travels through the streets to the cathedral where his father and his father's father were officially crowned king. 

Sylvain's part of a procession of knights who ride ahead of Dimitri and his personal guard. That means hot armor and fancy trappings on his horse, but he knows this is important so he polishes the Lance of Ruin extra the night before. Felix is right by Dimitri's side, and maybe in the past that would have made Sylvain jealous, but he knows that Felix has eyes only for him. 

Maybe that's the wrong way to put it, but he's still new to all of this and there's still so much he has to learn, but the sun is shining and bright and it's the perfect day for a celebration.

(The sun, he thinks, looks like how he feels.) 

Fhirdiad is still a bit of a mess considering repairs are scheduled to happen for the next ten years, but the parade makes its way down the streets and away from the rubble and worst of the destruction. They get covered in flowers and paper streamers and Sylvain coyly accepts a bouquet from a giggling woman with black hair and green eyes. He'll give it to Felix later, but for now he tucks it close to his saddle and places a dandelion in his horse's mane. She snorts and shakes her head, but it mages to stay put. 

He probably should be a bit more attentive during the ceremony itself, but it's really hard to have some deep, awe-inspiring respect for a guy when you remember him freaking out about exams and blushing like a child every time Dorothea flirted with him. Speaking of, Dorothea is standing in the crowd somewhere, though Sylvain doesn't see her. She did get an offer to march with the others, but declined. 

_It's not my place_ , she said, and no one really argued with her. Not after how she had been after Edelgard's death. 

The coronation is lovely, for what bits Sylvain pays attention to. He mostly uses the two and a half hour ritual to just stare at Felix. He's in formal armor, wicked bright and impractical. Ironically, if they were to be attacked now there wouldn't be all that much he could do, what with his ineptitude at fighting with heavy armor on. Dedue, who is standing on Dimitri's other side and doing his best impression of a walking fortress, provides all the security Dimitri needs. 

Felix is hot. There, Sylvain's acknowledged it. He's been trying to sleep with Felix for years, now, and he mentally scolds himself when he starts picturing the two of them bathing together after all the festivities. Just. It's nothing new. He just knows that he shouldn't be imagining something he can't have, that no good can come of it. 

(Unbidden, he thinks that _no one will come at all,_ which is a stupid joke and definitely doesn't make him smile enough that Ashe glares at him from where he's standing.) 

Oh, and he feels like he's about to fall over any minute. Mercedes had warned against his release from the infirmary, considering he only woke up a few days ago, but he already missed most of the drinking and he was not going to miss this. 

Sylvain sees Felix next during the ensuing party. Felix is still in his ridiculous armor, Sylvain's horse is somewhere in a stable and he'll have to grab her later, but right now the drinks are making the world spin a little and he has other concerns. Namely, the man in front of him. Felix only scowls a little when Sylvain puts an arm over his shoulders. If Sylvain uses him partially to remain upright, well, that's neither here nor there. 

He holds out a crumpled bouquet of flowers. Felix glares at them but takes them all the same. He looks mildly murderous, but that's par for the course. 

(In the light, he looks beautiful.) 

"You know, they say that a coronation is only complete after the king gets truly and utterly drunk?" Sylvain claims. 

"Don't be stupid. That's gossip." Felix glances over to where Dimitri is currently swarmed by well-wishers. Byleth and Dedue both strike sharp figures beside him, but Dimitri is blinding in his armor and furs. "Still, I find myself bored already by this pageantry."

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that we drink and dash? Shouldn't you be… like, worried about Dimitri or something?" 

Felix gives him a withering look. Sylvain chuckles, reaching up and ruffling Felix's hair. It's in a tight bun, but he manages to mess up a few locks. Felix huffs in annoyance. 

"I do not think that we will be missed," Felix says right as Ingrid pushes her way through the crowd. 

"There you two are!" Ingrid's wearing her own formal clothes, which has a plethora of feathers fit for a pegasus knight. Though Sylvain is sometimes an idiot, even he is not stupid enough to say that she looks like a chicken. "I've been looking all over for you." 

"Well, we've been right here," Felix drawls. He pushes Sylvain's arm off of his shoulders. Sylvain frowns, but says nothing. "What do you want?" 

"You could be happy for once," Ingrid says. "We are celebrating His Highness's ascension." 

"You make it sound like he's going to become a god. He's still the same idiot who tried eating weeds in the academy." Only Felix can get away with talking like that about the now-king of Faerghus, but Sylvain privately thinks that they're lucky everyone is too distracted by celebration to be paying attention to Felix's words. "Besides, there are more important things to do than drink. There are people starving in the countryside and bandits rampaging in every direction."

"And we'll deal with them when we get to it," Ingrid reassures him. "You know that we all want the same thing. But I think that there's no harm in a day of rest. The people here need it just as much as we do." 

Felix snorts and says that he needs space, which is Felix-talk for _I think you're stupid and I want to argue with you about this, but I also have been told off for arguing in public places._ He walks off. Sylvain sighs and goes to follow him, but Ingrid catches him by the arm before he can get too far. 

"Did something happen between you two?" Ingrid asks. Sylvain gives her a puzzled glance. "Well, I know Felix isn't one for public displays of affection, but I don't think I've ever seen him go from comfortable to… to whatever that was." 

Sylvain thinks about their conversation a few days prior. He doesn't know much about serious relationships or what exactly Felix does and doesn't want shared, but he has the feeling that it's not his place to go telling all their friends that Felix is about as interested in sex as Ashe is in picking up an axe. 

He shrugs. "I think that he's realizing a lot right now. I'm going to go talk to him, actually." Sylvain barely waits for Ingrid to nod before he's pushing his way through the crowd. 

Felix is nowhere in sight, but he's nothing if not painfully predictable, so Sylvain isn't surprised when he hears the clacking of training sword on training dummy in the other use empty sparring grounds. The heavy armor that Felix was wearing has been set to the side, stacked neatly but still inelegantly on a bench. Felix is down to his trousers, tunic, and overcoat and Sylvain has to focus himself because the pants really highlight certain assets better than others. 

"Are you going to stand there or are you going to join me?" Felix asks. 

"An invitation to spar with the illustrious war here? My, I must be fortunate," Sylvain jests, as if he didn't take ten minutes just to get on his horse earlier that day. Sparring is out of the question. Felix rolls his eyes, stepping away from the training dummy. It looks particularly worn, which means that it's either old or the good ol' Crest of Fraldarius is doing work. "I actually wanted to talk to you." 

"Regret your decision already?" Felix snaps, all too quick for Sylvain's taste. 

"Never," he swears. He crosses over the packed dirt and stops right before Felix. They're close enough to touch. Neither of them move. "What are you going to do now?" 

It's a weighted question and they both know it. Felix glances downwards, nudging at a rock with the toe of his boot. Sylvain thinks that he looks beautiful with the light filtering in through the open windows and would like to kiss him. He lives in a strange world where he can do that, so he places his lips on the top of Felix's head. His hair smells like sweat and the soft vanilla soap that's kept in all the fancy bathrooms. 

Felix looks up sharply, butting his head into Sylvain's chin. Sylvain yelps. Felix's frown is the only sign that it was an accident. 

"Are you hurt?" Felix asks.

"Only my pride," Sylvain replies. He doesn't expect Felix to cradle his jaw in his hands, examining him for any injuries. "Hey, I was telling the truth." 

"Yeah, but you also jumped in front of an axe a fortnight ago, so sorry if I don't trust your judgement." Felix kisses the corner of his mouth. "Are you going back to Gautier?" 

Sylvain nods. He got a letter from his father while he was still recovering from his injuries and, as soon as he was allowed visitors, his father came to talk to him about his duties. Felix had been dragged off by then, forced to deal with his own responsibilities as Duke Fraldarius. As the matter stands, Sylvain may not be the Margrave yet, but he will be soon. Probably. Hopefully? He's not sure. 

"I assume you're going back to Fraldarius." Sylvain doesn't really make it a question, which he supposes makes him a bit stupid for asking his original one at all. They both are horrible sons in their own way, but at the end of the day it's not just about what they want. They're not always allowed such luxuries. 

(Sylvain knows exactly what he wants.)

Felix rolls his shoulder. Sylvain opens his mouth, then snaps it closed from the withering look Felix aims at him. 

"There's usually bandits travelling between our territories. We'll probably have to work together to stop them."

"Yeah?" Sylvain resists the urge to scratch his head. "I mean, you say the word and I'll be there. You know that right?" 

"Right." Felix scrunches up his nose as he grimaces. It's adorable and if Sylvain ever says that, Felix will probably gut him like a fish. "You'll write." 

"Every day. Our messengers will tread a new trail with how many letters I'll send." Sylvain's not a fan of letter writing, but for Felix he'll make the effort. This is not lost on Felix, who smiles ever so slightly. 

The smile disappears as a cloud passes over the sun, a literal shadow cast over his face. "If you find yourself bored—" 

"We just fought a war, Fe. I think everything else is going to be boring from now on." Sylvain laughs. "And for once, I'm looking forward to a bit of boredom." He leans down to kiss Felix. It's everything he's ever wanted.

Almost. 

He finds his knees buckling and his body weight suddenly entirely on Felix. For all his gains, he still cannot deadlift Sylvain plus his ceremonial armor, and the two end up in a heap on the ground. Felix swears colorfully. 

"S-Sorry," Sylvain says. "I guess I should… maybe sit down…" It's a bit pointless since he's sitting in Felix's lap, though crushing him might be more apt. 

Rather than yelling as Sylvain expected, he feels a gentle hand in his hair. "Are you okay?" Felix asks. Sylvain shrugs. "We should get you back to the infirmary." 

Usually Sylvain would argue, but he also feels like he's been tossed around as a wyvern chew toy and sleep sounds great. He also thinks he can convince Felix to keep spending the night, mildly disapproving healers or no. But that also requires standing which…

"Give me a second." 

They don't have a second because there are footsteps coming down the hall. Neither of them act in time as Catherine and Shamir, of all people, enter. Both of them have changed out of the formal attire and Catherine's got a plain steel sword in one hand. She laughs even as Felix puts his full weight into shoving Sylvain off him. 

Sylvain hits the dirt and sees stars. He can hear Catherine laughing. 

"Well, if it's busy then don't mind us — but the celebrations are dying down, so you two probably want to find a more private place to enjoy yourselves." 

"Fuck off," Felix says as he stands. He looks at Sylvain and guilt filters across his face before being banished by frustration. Oh, it doesn't look like that. It looks like anger and annoyance. But the corners of his lips are too tight and his eyes too bright. 

Sylvain knows no one better than his best friend and lover, after all. 

(Are they lovers? Sylvain's not sure if that applies.) 

(He loves Felix, but…) 

Felix helps Sylvain stand. The shock of having people walk in on them, even if they were being relatively innocent, has sent a pulse of adrenaline through him and he's able to balance on his own two feet, but Felix swoops in and helps steady him anyways. 

"Are you okay?" Catherine asks, seeing how Sylvain looks. 

"We're fine," Felix snaps, because he's never willingly accepted help from anyone who isn't his closest friends or Byleth. Catherine shrugs, holding her hands up in a universal _whatever_ gesture. Shamir's eyes follow them on the way out. 

(It's cloudy that night.) 

# 

Sylvain is still twenty-five when he decides that he's sick of the rain. There's a few reasons for this. First, it means that he can't go outside very much. He might not be important enough to attend every meeting, but he's in enough that he'd rather do horseback riding or walking around or doing literally _anything_ else with his time. Surely staring at the sky or going fishing is better than listening to his father argue with some minor vassal about farming rights or the amount of taxes on wheat versus barley. 

The second reason is that he can't get messages to Felix with any reliable speed. Trails are flooded, or washed away entirely and the envoys have to take detours or postpone their journey entirely. They're able to get some messages across, but even those do nothing to quell the simple emotions that bubble up inside Sylvain's head with each passing moment. 

Simply put, Sylvain misses sex a lot more than he thought he would. 

"You know, your father and I are very happy with how serious you are taking your duties," his mother says one day over tea. Sylvain hates tea time. Not because of his feelings towards tea, but because his mother continues to bring up his lack of engagement. 

Literally and figuratively.

(Sometimes, Sylvain daydreams about Felix arriving on a horse in the middle of the rain, requesting Sylvain help him bathe, and in the warm water they show how much they love one another and Sylvain feels a little less terrible about loving someone more than he's loved in return.) 

(After, Sylvain always feels terrible about disrespecting Felix and knows, in his heart, that this is why Felix can't love him back the same way, because surely only a horrible person would ever think such things about a man who doesn't want them.) 

Sylvain's mother, Roseanne Antoinette Gautier, is convinced that now, in this midst of recovery and with multiple crises popping up every day, like a ship that keeps springing leaks, is the best time for matchmaking. Sylvain is a fool for thinking that he'd get even a bit of respite. Some part of him thinks he should count himself fortunate, as his courtship with Felix is so secret that even the most malicious gossip hasn't dug its claws in yet. The other part of him is five seconds away from getting the town criers to announce that Sylvain Jose Gautier is— 

"Sylvain, are you listening to me? I was just mentioning that the Lady Goneril is supposedly travelling through Faerghus soon…" 

Resisting the urge to say that Hilda is already married to someone else — Marianne being a woman is technically irrelevant, but almost worth saying if just to see the shock on his mother's face — Sylvain chooses instead to yawn. His mother's scowl is the icing on the cake. 

"I do apologize, but I was up late reviewing important papers…" Lies. Almost. He was up late last night reviewing papers, sure, and they were important to him, but they weren't anything official. "If we could adjourn and discuss this more on a later date?" He has no intention of continuing this discussion later, which his mother knows, but she nods anyways. 

"You know," she says as the servants come to clean up the tea set, "I haven't heard a single complaint about you, ah, enjoying what the town has to offer." 

There's something utterly mortifying about your own mother mentioning how you haven't been sleeping around. It's worse when, in the past, Sylvain would have made a joke about finding someone to bang on the regular. 

"I'll be in my study," he says instead of a real answer. 

Rather than go to his study, he heads for the library. There are few places that he would not be caught dead in — the chapel being another — without having been dragged there by another. So it's a safe place for him to sit in the corner and try not to think about things too much. 

Here's the problem. 

(Felix is hot and Sylvain is hot and really, what is he doing in a library alone and not making sweet, sweet love with—) 

(Felix is hot and totally not interested and Sylvain should respect that and not moon over him and imagine him in compromising positions—)

(Felix is unbelievably beautiful and he haunts Sylvain's dreams and it's normal for Sylvain to need to relieve himself as it were after waking—) 

Felix writes letters like he expects his old man to be able to read them from beyond the grave. No, worse — like he expects Mercedes to be checking his personal mail and commenting on every word. That is the only way Sylvain can receive such charming phrases like _It has been raining here_ or memorable lines like _The cooks do not know how to prepare a chicken nearly as well as Ashe._

In fact, Felix's most affectionate phrase is probably _Wish you were here to spar — everyone else goes easy on me,_ which is close to Felix saying that he misses Sylvain. Hell, it's probably more than he's ever said in the past. That doesn't mean that Sylvain is overjoyed. 

Admittedly, Sylvain isn't about to write poetry about Felix's (ass, mouth, hands, arms, ass—) features. Still, he likes to think that _I miss you_ and _I think about you every day_ are more affectionate than Felix's reply of _Bandits spotted to the north; be on guard_. 

It is like Felix didn't cry when he thought Sylvain was asleep, back when Sylvain was still on bedrest from his near death experience. Sylvain had gone in and out of consciousness then, between a haze of healing magic and potions and sleep staves, but he could distinctly remember Felix crying and begging him not to die. 

Well, he's not dead but he might be soon because, to put it in the most crass terms, his balls are going to burst if he doesn't fuck someone. 

Felix, specifically. Other people? They're like pale wax figures and Felix is the only real human left. Even the prettiest girls, people Sylvain would have been all over in a heartbeat before, just make him uncomfortable now. 

One of the messengers, a man who's been employed by the Gautier household since before Sylvain was born, finds him reading about the history of crests in a bit of a self-destructive fuge. There's nothing less sexy than remembering why his older brother went off the deep end and tried to kill him and his friends. But he is instantly cheered when the messenger says that he has a letter from Duke Fraldarius. 

"Thank you. Please feel free to help yourselves to the kitchens and rest." Rain clatters for attention against the window. Sylvain does his best to ignore it. "You always do good work for us." 

"Of course, sir. Family's lived on Gautier land for generations. Can't say I'd live anywhere else. Your father and his father and his father before are all good men, least that's what my pa used to say." The man grins. "And you will be a good Lord for us too, I reckon. Though, 'course, your father still has many years left in him. But he can die knowing he's got a good heir to leave behind." 

Sylvain swallows down any number of comments and settles for a nod. He waits until he's alone again to open the letter. The wax seal is the crest of Fraldarius of course, and it breaks with a satisfying snap under his fingers. 

The letter is simple enough, but it still warms Sylvain's heart to see the scrawl of Felix's handwriting. They may be lords, but Felix never did like calligraphy lessons. 

_Sylvain,_

_The rain has been causing more flooding here. The river that borders Fraldarius and Gautier is almost impassable. I'm not sure that this letter will reach you in a timely manner, but your man says it can be done. Don't snap at him if the letter is wrecked._

_I told you about the bandits last letter. Or maybe the one before that. But they've gotten worse. With the flooding, supplies can't get in fast enough. I've told the King about the problem, but he's got an entire continent to worry about now._

_I'm mounting a campaign against these bandits. We leave in two weeks. I won't be back until I've cleared this mess up. The last thing I need is for people to be comparing me to the old man, Seiros rest his soul, and saying that I can't lead._

_Try not to die while I'm gone._

_Felix_

The letter is dated six days ago, which is actually impressively recent if the flooding is that bad. It also is surprisingly sweet to know that Felix doesn't want him dead, which is a grand total of two semi-sweet things that he's said about Sylvain. 

The news about bandits also is the perfect excuse to go to his father and state, in plain terms, that he's bringing a regiment of cavalry to Fraldarius. 

"And why is that?" His father asks. 

"Bandits along the border. If they can be stopped before they gross into our territory, then that's one last thing to be concerned with." Sylvain holds his breath. Even if his father doesn't approve, he's already got Buttercup prepared for the journey. One man can travel faster than twenty, after all, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad. 

His father stands. Wolfgang Brutus Gautier is an old, imposing man and Sylvain hates him. 

"Why," Wolfgang Brutus Gautier asks, "Are you going with them?" 

_Because,_ Sylvain Jose Gautier replies in his head, _I'm sick of being in this castle and I'm sick of waiting for something to happen and I miss the man of my dreams._

What he actually says is something about wanting to lead the unit himself, to wipe the dust off the Lance of Ruin. 

His father gives approval and so, that evening, Sylvain leaves Castle Gautier and heads to Castle Fraldarius. To Felix. 

(The rain clears as they cross the border.) 

#

Apparently Felix expected Sylvain to do something stupid, like ride his regiment through the mud and flooding in order to make it to Fraldarius proper before Felix and his unit can leave, because when Sylvain rides through the gates, Felix is waiting for him by the entryway to the keep. 

"Hail, Lord Gautier," someone announces, as if the Lance of Ruin wasn't enough of a giveaway, glowing faintly by Sylvain's side. 

Felix is dressed in his fighting garb and he is a sight for sore eyes. He has two swords strapped to his belt, his cloak is trimmed with soft fur, and his ever-present scowl only softened by the way his eyes shine. 

Or maybe Sylvain is just reading too far into things. 

Seiros, but Sylvain wants to just run over and pull Felix into his arms and kiss him, blast what anyone else thinks. Instead, he dismounts, handing his reins to a stable boy. He crosses the cobblestone path, stretching his arms out wide. 

"Felix! Heard you had a bit of a problem. Gautier sent her best." 

"What are you doing here, then?" Felix's lips twitch. Sylvain decides he will not be offended. 

He reaches Felix and hugs him. He's allowed to do that. He's always done that. Felix puts up a token protest — Sylvain knows that it's token because Felix has never done anything he didn't want to — but he also squeezes Sylvain so tight that his heart might burst. 

Felix smells like rain and steel and leather. He's so warm. Sylvain presses his nose to Felix's hair — longer, he's growing it out again now that they aren't at war — and just. Breathes. 

Then Felix elbows him in the stomach. 

"People are staring," he mutters. 

Sylvain takes a step back. It's probably for the best. Sylvain can feel certain parts stirring, as it were, and his armor isn't exactly the most comfortable attire to get a hard-on in. 

"We've been travelling most of the day, but if our horses get some food and water we can depart again by nightfall," Sylvain says. He would have preferred — well, he would have preferred a lot of things, but he's not stupid enough to say any of them. 

Felix shakes his head anyways. "No. Let your men rest. We'll leave in the morning. My scouts are still locating the bandit camp." He gestures for Sylvain to follow him, which Sylvain does after instructing his regiment to get themselves rest and enjoy it while they can. "My master-at-arms will see them fed and in beds," Felix says.

"Thank you. Am I…?" 

"Your old rooms." Felix leads them into the keep itself. There are a few servants milling about, all of whom greet the two lords with the proper monikers, but Felix doesn't so much as glance at them. "They may be dusty. If you prefer alternate lodging for the night, then that can be arranged." 

Sylvain feels the breath catch in his throat as Felix glances at him. Long eyelashes frame golden eyes and Felix licks his lips. They're cracked and dry but fuck, Sylvain wants to kiss him. 

"I take it that you got my letter?" 

"Yeah." Sylvain swallows. He feels warm. He's probably blushing, but that can't be helped. "I'm glad it's not raining," he says, which will go down as the least sexy thing he has ever said. 

"Good. I'm glad." Felix opens a door and gestures for Sylvain to go inside. He does — it's an office. The drapes are drawn over the single window. Felix closes the door. 

Sylvain pulls him into his arms and kisses him. Felix feels even better than Sylvain remembered. The two melt together. Felix is the perfect height for Sylvain to lean down, the perfect height for Sylvain to cradle his chin with one hand. Felix's hands are curled up in Sylvain's cloak, his gloves doing little to stop the heat from his touch from spreading throughout Sylvain's entire body. 

He moans, deepening the kiss. He's a bit light-headed, but he doesn't want to stop. He fears that if he breaks away, then that's it. This is something fragile and precious and he has to guard it with his life. He's not sure what _this_ is, but he does know that he loves Felix and that he doesn't want a world without them together. It's been maybe three months since the last time they saw each other and that's three months too many.

His tongue brushes against Felix's lips, asking for entry, _begging_ for it. 

Felix freezes. 

Sylvain pulls back. He has to blink past stars, trying to focus on Felix's face. Felix is bright red and his eyes are wide as dinner plates, but he's still as ice. Sylvain doesn't think Felix is breathing.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Sylvain murmurs. "I… I missed you." 

Felix swallows. He looks away, those gold eyes glaring at the floor. "Yeah." He doesn't push Sylvain away, even though it's got to be uncomfortable for Sylvain's armor to be digging into Felix's torso. 

(For a moment, Sylvain thinks that Felix is going to say _I missed you_ , but that probably would kill Felix to do and Sylvain won't ask that of him.) 

"Are you staying in your old rooms, or…?" Sylvain trails off. The difference is important. Rodrigue's chambers were towards the north wall, large and regal like a major lord of Faerghus deserved. Felix had a nice, but smaller room. He never moved into Glenn's space, though he could have if he wanted. 

Importantly, the guest area where Sylvain has spent many a trip is closer to Felix's rooms than Rodrigue's. 

"I've kept my old room, yes," Felix says slowly. He glances towards the door, as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment. "I… keep late hours." 

"That's fine. I'll just have to entertain myself until you get back." Sylvain bites his tongue. "I mean, only if you're okay with that. I'll keep all my clothes on. Except the armor, but I think that's fair." 

Felix snorts. He pokes Sylvain in the chest, but he can't feel it through his breastplate. 

"Whatever. Just don't do anything stupid." 

Sylvain's grin grows a bit wider. "I've never done anything stupid in my life," he says. He will regret saying that for the next ten or so years, as Felix's iron memory will bring it up at every opportunity possible. For now, though, the two are perfectly content holding one another in silence while the world around them spins. 

# 

Dinner is a subdued affair. According to tradition, Felix should throw a mighty feast to welcome the assisting regiment and his fellow lord, but no one has ever accused Felix of being overly hospitable. So the calvary eats well, but alone, and Sylvain shares a private meal with Duke Fraldarius in a small side chamber. 

There's quality wine, well-cooked pheasant, and a bit of freshly baked bread. Sylvain barely tastes any of it; he’s too enraptured by Felix. 

Oh, they're talking about business. Felix mentions how the bandits have been traversing his entire territory, annoying and fast rather than downright brutal, but this deep into winter any kind of harm is too much harm. Above all else, it's pretty obvious that Felix's pride is also on the line. First season as a lord and letting bandits run around freely? Unacceptable. 

"We'll get them. Bandits are easy after what we've done," Sylvain says. He is pretty sure his stupid grin has been on his face for the past few hours. He doesn't really care. 

"I know that. And your calvary will be useful." Felix sips his wine. There's a faint pink in his cheeks and it's not from the cold. "I'm surprised that you were able to come." 

"I didn't give my father much of a choice," Sylvain confesses without a hint of shame. "I think he was glad to get rid of me, if I'm honest." 

Felix snorts. "So you haven't changed much, have you?"

Sylvain clutches his chest, as if this was some deeply offensive statement. "I'll have you know, my reputation has been soaring ever since I stopped sleeping around." 

Rather than lighten the mood, Felix's face shutters off. Sylvain instantly knows he's said something wrong, but he doesn't know what exactly is bad with establishing that he doesn't have sex anymore. 

_Isn't that the whole point,_ he thinks. _Shouldn't you be happy that I'm not fucking every girl that I see?_

"I'm not!" Sylvain insists. "You're the only one for me." 

Felix swallows the rest of his wine. "Great." He doesn't sound thrilled. 

"Why are you upset?" 

"I'm not upset." 

Sylvain doesn't dignify that lie with a response, just maintains as much eye contact as he can while taking a bite out of some steamed vegetables. Felix, who has never been comfortable with eye contact in the best of circumstances, looks away almost immediately.

A moment passes. 

"I need to do some work tonight. Unfortunately, ruling a dukedom does not wait even when there are… bandits." Felix stands. Sylvain mirrors him. He doesn't remember Felix's eyes glowing so much in firelight. He can't believe he ever forgot. "I'll return later." 

"Can I help?" Sylvain blurts out. Felix raises an eyebrow. "Um, believe it or not but I do know how to do paperwork. I'm sure it can't be that much different than the stuff back home." 

"No, you cannot. I am perfectly capable of doing my duties alone, Sylvain." 

It strikes him, like a lightning bolt on a clear day, that this is the first time that Felix has said his name this entire visit. Sylvain swallows. 

"Fine. Whatever." Sylvain wrestles with his next move, so Felix is already halfway out the door when he blurts out, "I guess I'm an idiot for thinking that I meant anything to you?" 

Felix closes the door. He narrows his eyes at Sylvain. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Well, I've been trying to actually get to spend some time with you and, I don't know, act like we're courting instead of two lords who happen to live next to each other!" Sylvain's voice raises and it's with great effort that he shoves it back down. 

(And usually he's encouraging things to rise, but everything is opposite with Felix.) 

"We have spent the whole day together!" 

"Examining your keep like I'm on some kind of investigation. I want to spend time with you. The real you." 

It's the wrong thing to say. What little light is left in Felix's eyes gets shut off, the curtain dropped and smothering in its weight. 

"This is the real me. I told you. I don't want to have sex with you. I never will. If that's something that you think you can change, then maybe we should reconsider this before it goes any further." 

Sylvain could punch something. Instead, he groans. 

"I'm not trying to sleep with you, Fe." 

"Then why can't you kiss me like a normal person?" 

"I am the normal person!" 

Fuck. 

Felix slams the door when he leaves. 

#

Sylvain stares up at his ceiling. Well, the ceiling. Technically it's Felix's ceiling. 

Felix is probably not coming back that night. He didn't say anything about it, but he marched off in such a huff that Sylvain wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't sleep at all. That was pretty standard back in the Academy, that Felix would throw himself into training or studying or anything at all that didn't involve him lying in bed. 

There's a lot of things that Sylvain really likes about beds, so he never quite understood the sentiment, but it makes a bit more sense now. 

(It doesn't, actually, because how can Felix say that he cares and that he loves Sylvain when he goes and acts like this?)

( _Oh,_ Sylvain realizes in his own personal earthquake, _he hasn't said that he loves me._ ) 

The room smells like faint lavender. The bed smells like Felix. 

It is a profoundly stupid idea, but Sylvain finds himself slipping his trousers down. This is the absolute worst idea that he's ever had, including when he jumped in front of a guy with an axe to protect Felix from being hurt during the final battle, but he's not thinking straight. He can't go out and drink and fuck his problems away like he would if he were fifteen or eighteen or twenty or whatever. He can't do that anymore. 

That's his excuse for when he reaches down and starts feeling himself.

His dick is soft. It's not from lack of trying, but he just feels (guilt, anger, frustration, sorrow, guilt, depression) — he feels a lot. None of it good. Not until he presses his face into Felix's pillow, breathes in, closes his eyes, and imagines that the fabric between his fingers is actually Felix's clothes. 

It's enough that his body starts to respond properly, the correct inputs feeding the correct outputs. He's still not — not turned on, not really, but precum starts beading at the tip and he spreads it over the head of his cock so he doesn't chafe. That's not the kind of pain he's looking for right now. 

He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and tries to picture what it would be like to really make out with Felix. To take his head in his hands and press their lips together. For their tongues to dance and for their hands to roam across their bodies. Felix, Sylvain assumes, is all muscle. Lithe, elegant, hard. So, so hard. 

(He's not been with many people who are made of muscle, but Sylvain doesn't want anything else.)

Felix probably would be very nervous. He's never done this before and, oh, it might be vulgar but Sylvain craves to be the only person who knows what Felix looks like in the throes of passion. To be so trusted, so adored, so _cherished_ that Felix would share that part with Sylvain. 

Would Felix close his eyes? Is he loud or quiet? Would he moan or gasp when Sylvain touches him for the first time? Surely he'd be blushing, but would that red trail down his chest or remain in his cheeks? Perhaps, if Sylvain was truly blessed, he'd be a screamer. Then the whole world would know that Sylvain, and only Sylvain, got to see Felix at his most vulnerable. 

Sylvain imagines nails scratching his back as he thrusts, as he caresses Felix's cock, as he leaves butterfly kisses all over Felix's collarbone. The two of them would be pressed together, fitting perfectly like puzzle pieces or a sword in its scabbard. Despite it being their first time together, everything would be flawless. So good that Felix would confess his love, so good that he'd swear that Sylvain was the exception to his rule. 

Unlike Sylvain, who slept with almost everyone at Garreg Mach and every other girl in the Gautier territory and several more besides, sex with Felix would be special. It would be on par with a religious ritual, sacred and precious and pure. Or, at least as pure as sex could be. It would be less like something out of a raunchy novel and more like what is depicted in one of Ashe's romances, the ones he thinks others don't notice him reading. 

But despite his reservations at first, Felix would come to the understanding that Sylvain is just special enough to be different, to be unique. Felix would realize that Sylvain is the only person who could be trusted in the most intimate and vulnerable sense. 

Even in his fantasy, Sylvain feels a stab of guilt. How dare he disrespect Felix like this? How dare he imagine something that will never happen? Why can't he just accept that this is something he won't get if he's with Felix? 

(It's hardly the first time he's not had his way and it won't be the last.) 

They'd whisper each other's names and promises of love and affection, Sylvain thinks. Sylvain's ready to shout his love from the balconies of Castle Gautier, but in the bedroom he'd murmur it for only one pair of ears. He'd swallow up Felix's own oaths, take up his guarantees and keep them stashed away for cold, lonely winter nights. Memories to keep him hopeful and happy even when Felix has his duties far away from Sylvain. 

Some foolish part of Sylvain — and oh, he's really entirely a fool now, but he can delude himself into pretending this is just a silly fantasy — thinks that it would be wonderful if he and Felix orgasmed together the first time. Felix, head tilted back and eyes fluttering and chest heaving, with his dick spurting across Sylvain's chest. And Sylvain, forcing his eyes open so he could take in Felix, but distracted by the warmth around his cock and his heart, would shoot his load into Felix. Where no one else had ever or would ever touch.

Sylvain comes all over his hand, dirtying his undergarments. His vision whites out for a moment, but rather than sit in the happy warmth of the afterglow, he's immediately slapped in the face by reality. The bed is surprisingly cold. His limbs ache from days and days of hard riding. The smell of Felix is quickly being replaced by that of Sylvain's sweat and sin. 

"Fuck," Sylvain mutters. He doesn't blame Felix for being mad at him. Sylvain doesn't deserve anything less. 

Ironically, Sylvain finds himself with the urge to fight someone. If he weren't certain that he'd run into Felix, he'd go down to the training yard himself. But he's vulnerable like an open nerve and Felix is the last person he wants to see right now. 

(Felix doesn't come back that night.) 

#

One week later, they kill the bandits. Between the two of them, they don't lose any men. Felix smiles at him once, after the fighting is over. Then he closes off and turns away. They don't have a chance to talk about what happened, not with everyone needing their attention and not with a letter from Margrave Gautier demanding Sylvain return as soon as possible. 

Sylvain rides back to Gautier with a full regiment and an empty heart. 

(He's so fucking sick of the rain that he's almost glad that it starts to snow on the way back.) 

#

When Sylvain was fifteen, he lost his virginity to a scullery maid in an empty bed chamber when he was supposed to be learning more about history or politics or philosophy. Some boring topic that he couldn't care less about. 

Ten years later, Sylvain can barely remember what it was like. He knows that it was awkward, that he hadn't a good idea of what made sex good for both parties and that the maid was too nervous to really tell him off. But even at fifteen he was still pretty and handsome and just charming enough to get away with stupid things. 

Like fucking someone in an empty bedroom while avoiding his tutors. 

He's pretty sure that his father knew. In fact, looking back on it Sylvain wonders if his father set it all up. A good way to break him in, to encourage him to get good experience. Like breeding a stud with a lesser bitch so that any bad habits can be broken immediately.

Oh, as a teenager he thought he was so clever, but as much as Sylvain hates his father he's never been under the impression that his father is a man of little intelligence. That's almost the worst part. Wolfgang Gautier is the man whom Sylvain inherited his brains from. Roseanne is whom he inherited his beauty from. 

The perfect son. Crest. Brains. Beauty. 

It's a shame that he spent so much of his youth seeking out love, only for it to melt away in the morning like faint dew drops in grass. 

It's a shame that Sylvain's found love, but it's cold and intangible as mist.

It's a shame that he's a weapon designed by generations of careful matches and that his hands, after years and years at war, only know how to hurt. Friends and enemies both fall when he runs his mouth. Whether it's in the bedroom or the battlefield, it doesn't matter. 

(It's just like fighting.) 

Sylvain writes to Felix. He writes so many letters. Ones that his father would be furious if he read. Ones that his father would be proud of. Ones that bare Sylvain's heart and soul onto paper, blood mingling with the ink and tears blurring the letters. Ones that close him off, act as if he and Felix were never even friends, let alone lovers. 

He doesn't send any of them. It's fine — Felix doesn't send any either. 

#

Before Felix's next birthday, Sylvain is ordered to throw a ball. Technically, his father is the one throwing it. Sylvain just has to show up. He technically doesn't even have to dance with anyone, but if he doesn't then it's sure to be a huge scandal. After all, not only has the infamous Sylvain Gautier not gotten chased out of a fair young maiden's house in the early hours by her relatives, but he hasn't even flirted with any of the maids. Surely something must be wrong with him. 

The only good thing about a ball is that it's the perfect excuse to invite a few friends to see him again, all on his father's dime of course. 

Dimitri turns down the invitation with a polite but firm letter, stating that repairing Fódlan is a bit more important than a winter ball. Dedue, who has not left Dimitri's side since their reunion, declines his invitation in the postscript of Dimitri's letter. 

Ashe, Annette, and Mercedes are all busy as well, whether it be with opening an inn, research, or saving lives. Sylvain's not too surprised, though he does find himself realizing that he does miss them and resolves to stay in touch a bit better. 

Byleth doesn't actually say why, but they also decline. Sylvain has hazy memories of them awkwardly standing by the punch table during the ball back at the academy and figures that, well, they probably do have better things to do anyways. 

Ingrid accepts, which is a surprise but a welcome one. Sylvain immediately sets about having her old room cleared up. He also makes sure that the kitchens are aware of her impending arrival, because the best kept secret from the childhood quartet is that Ingrid can out eat any of them. 

Sylvain doesn't get a response back from Felix. He wonders if this is his way of saying that they're through. He would have thought Felix at least brave enough to tell him in writing, if in person was too difficult. Then again, he supposes there's a lot of things he misunderstood about Felix. 

It snows as Ingrid arrives at Gautier atop her pegasus. The two are so bright in their uniforms that they almost blend in with the sky, but thankfully this is no storm and they land safely. Sylvain is actually in his study doing real work, but he comes quickly when he is summoned. 

"Hello! You're a sight for sore eyes," Sylvain says as he pulls Ingrid into a warm hug. 

"Yes, well, someone has to make sure that you haven't managed to ruin an entire territory in the span of four months," Ingrid jokes. She ruffles his hair despite the fact that she has to stand on the tips of her toes to do so. "I can't believe that you're throwing a ball."

"I can't believe that you're willingly coming to a ball," Sylvain counters, but there's no real heat in his words. He slings an arm over her shoulders and steers her towards one of the drawing rooms, though not before making sure one of the servants knows to drop off tea and snacks. 

"Well, I… I have missed you. And I hope some of the others are coming as well?" Ingrid's face drops a little when she hears that no, actually all of their friends are moving on with their lives, though she does admit that she sees Dimitri and Dedue rather often, and she's set to visit Annette and Mercedes in a few weeks, and she actually exchanges letters with Dorothea every week— 

"So it's me and Felix who no one talks to," Sylvain says. It's definitely bitter. 

Ingrid frowns. "Well, we try to send letters, but it's difficult for them to get through and…" _Neither of you ever reply_ is how that sentence should end, but Ingrid is too diplomatic to say it. 

Surprisingly so, since she was always the first to call him out for not studying or feeling around when they were younger. Sylvain deserves the criticism. He usually does. 

"Yeah, I… have been pretty bad at that. Huh. But I'm not a huge disappointment to the family name anymore," Sylvain says. He quickly outlines the increase in his reputation ever since he stopped sleeping around, though he's careful to be vague about what exactly his relationship with Felix is. Still, he can't help but feel his stomach drop out when Ingrid asks,

"Where is Felix? Has he arrived yet?" 

Sylvain is temporarily saved from answering when three maids come in with a full tea spread. He hopes that Ingrid will be distracted enough that she forgets her question, but soon enough they're alone again and she's giving him a puzzled look. The only difference is that there's a cup of tea in her hands.

There's not really a good way of summarizing the situation, so Sylvain settles with a simple approach.

"I think he hates me," which has the desired effect of making Ingrid's face go from angry to sad to confused and then back to angry.

"And why would Felix hate you?" She asks. 

Sylvain sighs. "I… it's complicated. And some of it, I'm not sure if I can tell you. Not because I don't want to, but it's Felix's stuff to share." 

Ingrid nods slowly. "I understand that, but he's my friend too. If you hurt him…" 

"I didn't do — okay, I did say some stupid things. I wasn't thinking." 

"So you were flirting with a girl?" 

"No! I swear, I haven't even looked at a girl that way since Felix and I — since we began counting." Sylvain leans back in his chair. There's a fire going, which helps fight the chill a bit. Still, even bundled up in furs he can still see his breath. "He… He wants to take things slowly." 

A look of realization crests over Ingrid's face. Then she scowls and smacks Sylvain on his forehead. 

"Ow!" 

"You idiot! You ruined things with Felix because you can't keep your dick in your pants for a few months?" 

"I told you, I haven't had sex with anyone ever since—" 

"But you're pressuring him into it." 

"No, I—" Sylvain recalls hot kisses, hotter nights. He thinks about how eager he was to sleep in the same bed as Felix, not even so they could have sex but just to fall asleep hearing Felix's snores and with his warmth in Sylvain's arms. 

Then he thinks about his usual reputation, what people expect when they hear that he's trying to get them in bed. 

"I'm an idiot," Sylvain agrees. "Seiros, he's never going to talk to me again, is he?" 

"Well, he hated Dimitri for a while, but they can actually hold a polite conversation now. So I'd give it… ten years?" Ingrid taps the side of her cup. "Though, it is Felix. If he really puts his mind to it, he can be more stubborn than anyone else in Fódlan." 

Sylvain holds his head in his hands. He feels sick. His stomach is twisted into knots. His chest has a little gremlin inside that's twisting all of his nerves into a tight bundle, tightening it over and over until he feels like he's going to explode. 

Ingrid actually sighs and pats him on the back. "Have you tried talking to him about it?" 

"He's avoiding me." 

"Or are you avoiding him?" 

Sylvain can't help but laugh. "No, I'm pretty sure that he's avoiding me. He didn't even want to talk to me before I left Castle Fraldarius." 

Before Ingrid can ask why he was in Fraldarius in the first place, there's a knock on the door. Sylvain clears his throat, but he still sounds like shit when he tells the servants to come in. 

"Duke Fraldarius is waiting for you in the courtyard, Lord Gautier." 

Ingrid looks at Sylvain. He resists the urge to throw himself out the window or tell the servant to claim that he's sick. 

"And, uh, did he mention why he is here?" 

"He was invited to your father's ball, was he not?" 

"Sylvain will be down in a moment," Ingrid interrupts. "Thank you." 

He waits until the door is closed and the two of them are alone before turning to Ingrid, intent on asking why he would be greeting Felix alone, when she cuts him off with a look. 

Sylvain ends up going down to the courtyard alone. 

( _See you at dinner_ , Ingrid had said. _If I'm still alive_ , Sylvain had replied.) 

It's still snowing. Felix is bundled up in a long fur cloak, fur-lined boots, and his customary scowl. Sylvain's certain he imagines the scowl lessening a hair when the two meet each other's gazes from across the cobblestone courtyard. Felix looks away, arms crossed, two swords peeking out from under his cloak. There's enough snow that the blue fabric looks more white. Sylvain wants to wrap him in a hug and pull him inside and place him next to a roaring fire while feeding him the best cuts of meats, cheese, and bread that the kitchen can whip up. 

Instead, he waves from the archway. 

"Come on, what are you standing there for? Don't tell me you forgot where everything is." 

Felix snorts but he walks towards Sylvain anyways. He stops when he's a few feet from Sylvain, lips twitching in a frown before setting in a neutrality born of years and years of practiced apathy. For a while, neither of them speak. The noise of the surrounding city is the backdrop to their reunion and Sylvain remembers the first time he stood on these steps and thought _he looks beautiful._

The snow dusts down on every surface it can cling to and Felix shakes his head to dissuade some of it from his hair. There's still a small clump and Sylvain carefully, slowly, reaches out to brush it off with his hand. Felix freezes, looking at him with the corner of his eyes, but doesn't say anything. 

A moment. 

"You're beautiful." Sylvain bites his bottom lip. "You're — you're so beautiful." 

Nothing. And then: 

"Thank you." Felix turns so he is facing Sylvain directly. He opens his mouth and then, for the first time in his life, reconsiders his words. It gives Sylvain a brief ray of hope in the grey sky, a thought that maybe Felix will say that all is forgiven and that he loves Sylvain and that he missed him and— "I didn't think you would send an invitation for me." 

Sylvain's brows furrow in deep lines. "Why would I not invite you?" Anxiety twists deep in Sylvain's get, a coiling serpent ready to strike at the slightest inclination of weakness. 

"Just… ah, it clearly doesn't matter. I'm here now, aren't I? Come on, it's cold." 

Felix walks inside. He only glances at Sylvain to ensure he is following. 

(Lightning doesn't strike twice — maybe Felix's affections are the same and Sylvain has run out of his luck. And yet, Sylvain can see a small ember that does still burn and Sylvain can only hope that he can fan it into a proper flame once more.) 

#

It is three days into a snowstorm when the ball is hosted. There's a live string quartet, an ever present horde of servants with platters of mince meats and various finger foods, and a plethora of young lords and ladies, mostly minor nobility from the nearby area come to try their luck charming their way into better beds and better lands. Clearly the Faerghus weather will have to try harder to dissuade any of them from celebrating the halfway mark through the worst of the season. 

Margrave Wolfgang Gautier and his wife, the lovely Roseanne Gautier, are the picture of wealth in a very Faerghus style. Thick furs, heavy fabrics, and dark colors make up their attire, though it does not go unnoticed that the Gautier crest is embroidered on Lady Gautier's shawl and the back of Margrave Gautier's gloves. 

Felix is in the same outfit he wore to the coronation ceremony, minus the armor, so it's really just his combat uniform and a fancy cloak. It is certain that someone has noticed and will comment on it sometime, but he's also Duke Fraldarius and a war hero. He's allowed eccentricities. 

Ingrid looks great in her pegasus knights uniform. Sylvain tells her this with a customary wink and grin. It says a great deal about their friendship that she only rolls hey eyes and slugs him gently on the shoulder. Though, not too gently, as she glances over to Felix who is standing in the corner with a glare on his face and a drink in hand. 

"Go talk to him," she tells Sylvain.

"What, now? Are you joking?" She is not joking, as he soon learns, because she waves Felix over and Sylvain is forced to see the devastatingly handsome sight that is Felix walking across the ballroom towards him, his chin angled up and a hand resting on the pommel of one of his swords. 

If anyone else tried to come into a ball fully armed, Sylvain would have them thrown out. For Felix, it would have been more odd to see him without a sword. 

"Sylvain wanted to ask you something," Ingrid says. Then she conveniently spots a platter of smoked fish and goes chasing after it, though not before giving Sylvain a knowing look. 

Felix sighs. "You know, she cornered me earlier today and started asking about my intentions for you." 

A laugh gets drawn from Sylvain's chest, along with a faint flutter of relief. If Felix is willingly speaking to him about whatever is between them, then maybe things are okay. 

"Lord Gautier! Are you free for a dance?" Someone asks. She's pretty. Thin, tall, sharp eyes and long hair. A minor lady, perhaps, or anyone with some ambition. Maybe a daughter of a rich merchant trying to get ahead. 

It's cruel of Sylvain to dismiss her so readily with a simple glance over her dress and the cut of her hair, but he's too used to being prey for vultures. Besides, even if she were the most attractive and wealthy in the kingdom, he's occupied for the next dance. 

"Oh?" The woman questions, pressing in closer. "And who is the lucky lady?" 

"Gentleman, actually. Felix?" Sylvain holds his hand out and thinks, vaguely, that it would be horrible to be stabbed to death in the middle of his father's ball. 

Felix snorts, takes Sylvain's hand, and drags him onto the dance floor. Predictably, Felix leads, regardless of how silly it may look for the shorter of the two to be attempting to guide Sylvain across the hall and through the other twirling couples. With surprising grace, however, Felix avoids any collisions and only stops them when they're a safe distance away from the inquiring eyes of Margrave Gautier. 

Still, everyone is definitely looking at them. 

(Sylvain once jumped off his horse in the middle of battle to protect Felix, but this is even more terrifying.) 

"You could have just turned her down," Felix says. He's looking everywhere — at the bright candelabras, at the shimmering dresses, at the gleaming silver platters, at the gentlemen with wine glasses and ladies with soft silk gloves. Everywhere, that is, but Sylvain. 

He's blushing. He's beautiful. Sylvain wants to kiss him. 

(Sylvain knows exactly what he wants, but it's always been out of reach, but right now Felix is by his side and maybe this is enough.) 

( _Maybe,_ some soft part of his brain long since forgotten under the crushing weight of his family obligations and societal pressure and a haze of fucking and drinking whispers, _this is it._ ) 

"I wanted to dance with you," Sylvain replies. They are dancing, so he'd say that he got his way. 

"Idiot." Felix looks at his feet. "People are staring." 

"Only because they're jealous." 

"Should they be?" 

Sylvain almost trips, but Felix is quick to catch him. Somehow, they end up with Sylvain in a dip, looking up at Felix with a few strands of black hair tickling Sylvain's face. Felix's hair has gotten quite long. For the first time, Sylvain imagines just weaving in through his fingers, maybe picking up braiding so he can have an excuse to play with it.

(Usually he's picturing tugging on hair, seeing that perfect mouth in an O of pleasure, but this is different.

(Felix is different.) 

Standing back up, Sylvain and Felix resume dancing, though they really are doing little more than swaying back and forth while holding each other. 

"Well, I am the second most lucrative bachelor in this room. But I'm taken." Sylvain grins. 

"And have I met this unfortunate soul that has latched their future onto you?" Felix quips. There's a gleam in his eyes that Sylvain knows he isn't just imagining and isn't just candlelight. 

"Well, you may be familiar with him. He's handsome, intelligent… bit moody, but very good at swordsmanship, so don't tell him I said that." Sylvain laughs as Felix steps on his toes. His eyes only water a little. "He and I have been best friends for years, and I'm really lucky to have him by my side. Even if I am an idiot and keep doing stupid things." 

"Oh?" Felix raises an eyebrow. 

(Lightning doesn't strike twice, not without a little bit of magic. He's never been any good at Reason, but maybe that can change.) 

Sylvain bites his lip. 

"I… I just want you to know that I am happy with you, that's all." 

A small, faltering smile lights up on Felix's face. Sylvain knows he has just as much of a dopey look on his and he doesn't care to conceal it. The music draws to a close and they should break apart, but there's nothing he wants to do less. 

"I was furious with you," Felix says. "And then you did not want to talk, so I assumed…" 

Sylvain winces. "I was trying to give you space," he explains. "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," Felix replies. "I thought that you were sick of me. With my… preferences."

And oh, how does Sylvain even begin to explain that he'd gladly be celibate the rest of his life as long as he can hold Felix in his arms?

(And when did he realize that he would be fine just holding Felix in his arms?) 

"Never," Sylvain settles on, hoping that the single word can encompass all he feels. "How could I be sick of you?" 

Felix rolls his eyes. They're still holding hands. Even with gloves on, Sylvain feels Felix's palms burning against his own. There are definitely people staring, but Sylvain couldn't care less. 

What, should he be ashamed of finding love? Should he be embarrassed about having the unobtainable? Nobles should put their family lines ahead of themselves, but if this is what makes Sylvain a pariah and not his philandering then he will take the mantle of outcast proudly. 

He could be a coward, but not when it was him and Felix versus the world. 

Sylvain is still human and pales as he notices a very angry Margrave Gautier marching towards the pair. Felix turns and looks at what has Sylvain acting like a ghost has appeared. When he notices Wolfgang, he sighs and goes to let go of Sylvain's hand. Irrationally, Sylvain clings tighter. 

"What are you two doing?" Margrave Gautier asks. He looks at Sylvain but spits his next words at Felix. "Felix, what a surprise. I thought that Fraldarius was currently under attack by rampaging bandit hordes." A vast over-exaggeration, of course, but Margrave Gautier hasn't been known to be the most sensible of men. 

He also thinks Felix's unwillingness to even entertain the thought of an arranged marriage is offensive to his major crest, but Sylvain only knows that from years and years of angry rants over otherwise silent dinners. 

The look that Felix gives Wolfgang could freeze rivers. "Fraldarius has dealt with our problems, which we thank Gautier for their assistance. Especially the acts of your son, which were very instrumental to help us not lose any men during the fighting." Felix smiles. It's all ice. "I was, in fact, discussing strengthening the relations between our territories. We have historically always been close, after all." 

Sylvain could kiss Felix. 

"Oh, and Margrave Gautier? I have inherited my father's title — in the eyes of King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and the rest of Faerghus, I am Duke Fraldarius. You should refer to me properly." 

Oh, but _Seiros_ did Sylvain want to kiss Felix. 

There is a large vein on Wolfgang Gautier's forehead that _throbs_ as he says, through grit teeth, "I apologize for my mistake, Duke Fraldarius. Please let me know if there is… Anything that you require." 

Sylvain and Felix are both quiet as Margrave Gautier walks away. A sigh escapes Sylvain's lips. He's going to hear about this later. Felix snorts. 

"He and my old man got on like a wildfire. I never understood it much. He's a bit of a stickler for tradition, even for me." Felix seems to just notice that he and Sylvain are still holding hands. He looks at Sylvain, at the people pretending they aren't watching, and quickly presses his lips to the back of Sylvain's hand. Then he lets go. "I think that I need a drink. Go and tell Ingrid to stop staring." 

Despite his words, Felix doesn't look like he minds when Sylvain follows him for the rest of this night. 

#

The two stumble out of the ball late that night, a healthy flush in Sylvain's cheeks and warmth seeping through the heavy fabrics that both of them are wearing. Felix is leaning against Sylvain for support, or maybe Sylvain is leaning against Felix. 

(They're leaving against each other, but neither wants to admit it.) 

There's still a crowd in the ballroom when they leave, but even the musicians are tiring and the food has all but run out. No one, surely, will question Lord Gautier and Duke Fraldarius exiting together. Not when they are so often attached at the hip, have been since they were boys, though not usually in such a literal sense. And, granted, their little dance had caused quite the stir but… 

Sylvain licks his lips as he looks at Felix's mouth. Felix is quiet, his eyes focused on his feet. Each step is meticulously planned and executed, not unlike Felix when he fights. Only, now his mind is a bit hazy with drink and it takes all his focus to get from point a to point b. It's how Sylvain can stare at him, crave him, be open and honest in his gaze.

Snow and a bit of hale hits the windows and walls of the castle. Sylvain barely notices as he leads Felix to the guest quarters. There's a split in the hall, one corridor going towards where Felix is staying and the other towards Sylvain's own quarters. They aren't that far from each other, not really, but Sylvain still hesitates. He doesn't want Felix to feel pressured, but… 

"I don't want to be alone tonight," Sylvain confesses. Felix looks up at him, squinting a little. "I… would you…" 

Felix blinks. He snorts and, with an exaggerated eye roll, tugs Sylvain with him. They're heading towards Sylvain's rooms. He'd be lying if he tried to say that it didn't make him grin like a goddamn idiot, but Felix doesn't comment. 

The two of them are quiet as they walk into the room, though there is a bit of a delay as Sylvain unlocks the doors. His bed has never been intimidating before, but Sylvain carefully doesn't look at it as he untangles his fingers from Felix's — and when did they start holding hands? 

By the door, Felix tugs his boots off and throws them aside. Sylvain sets his carefully to where they belong. He dances his fingers across the clasp of his cloak, but when Felix starts shedding layers he decides to mirror him.

The two of them end up in trousers and a tunic — in Sylvain's case — and a knit sweater — in Felix's. Felix sits on the bed as he starts to unpin his hair. He scowls at each lock that falls down. Sylvain tries not to stare, but he will never be too prideful to pretend that he finds Felix's hair anything other than absolutely stunning and utterly distracting. He's lucky that Felix wears it up during battle, else he probably would have stabbed himself with the Lance of Ruin sometime in the last five years. 

Felix looks around the room, eyes landing on Sylvain's dresser. Everything is put away so the top is bare, each item set into one of the half dozen drawers. 

"Do you have a brush?" Felix asks. 

"Yeah." Sylvain moves to get one and chooses the silver brush with pearl embedded in the handle rather than his usual wooden brush. He goes to the bed and holds it out, then finds his stomach falling out of his body when Felix shifts back on the bed and pats the space next to him. 

Afraid that speaking will break this enchantment, Sylvain sits down and then gently begins to brush Felix's hair. The strands are thick and wild, clearly the victim of Felix's impatience and lack of concern over societal standards of self-care and appearance. Still, despite Felix's best efforts to neglect his hair into ruin, it's still soft under Sylvain's fingers and gives way quite easily to the care of a watchful set of eyes. 

Felix himself seems to melt, a quick glance showing that his eyes are closed and his posture is slouched towards Sylvain. They're both still fully dressed, but Sylvain has never felt so close to someone before. So intimate. He can feel the slight edge of arousal, but it's not the maddening lust that he usually feels when in bed with someone he wants to fuck. 

Then again, he's never really done this with someone he's loved before.

Oh, he and Felix have shared a bed — have since they were kids, since they began to court one another — but this is different. This is the natural progression of over a decade of lust and over two decades of affection and friendship. This is a pair of birds come to rest in the rafters of an old dusty barn, concealed from the rest of the world, safe from harm. 

A particularly violent gust of wind pushes sleet against Sylvain's window and the two of them look up in alarm, only to relax when it is not the clatter of an assassin's weapon or the whisper of magic being summoned. Sylvain presses his lips against the back of Felix's head. 

"All done," he murmurs. Felix nods. He turns around and, gentle as a dove wings, kisses Sylvain. Soft, chaste. 

Intimate. 

( _It won't last,_ the insidious snake inside Sylvain's chest hisses. _Like a brief glimpse of sunlight in the rainy autumn, this too will be concealed by the clouds that shadow you_.) 

Felix moves away and gets under the bed covers, waiting only for Sylvain to slip in behind him before moving back against him. He fits perfectly in Sylvain's arms. Sylvain breathes in deep.

"I love you." 

Sylvain blinks, certain he had misheard. 

"I love you. I… I realized that I had not said that yet," Felix confesses. "I suppose you already know, but Ingrid said it might be worth telling you." 

Like an idiot, Sylvain almost says _No, I didn't know,_ but he doesn't want to draw that out. He doesn't want Felix to think he isn't good enough, because he is — it's Sylvain who was never sufficient. 

Dancing from one partner to another is all fun and games until you wake up one day and realize that you're in love with your best friend. 

What are the chances, after all, of your friend liking you back? No — _loving_ you back? 

"Are you alive back there?" Felix asks, a hint of annoyance not quite covering up his doubt. 

"Yes." Sylvain hugs him. Felix tenses before slowly relaxing and allowing the touch to comfort him. "I love you too." 

Silence. Then:

"Even though we don't have sex?" Felix has never sounded small before. 

"Yes." Sylvain's answer almost surprises him. When did he sign up for a lifetime without sex? 

(Back when he was standing on the steps of Gautier Castle in the rain, watching Felix and his father arrive to discuss the fighting along the Sreng border and he thought _Felix is beautiful—_ )

"I don't love you just for your body, Fe. You know that, right?" 

"Mhmm. You know, your father is going to throw a fit if you tell him." 

Sylvain laughs. "I think he already knows. I don't care. I'll tell the whole world. I'll pay people to go around towns letting them know that the nasty philander Sylvain Jose Gautier has fallen in love with the noble Felix Hugo Fraldarius."

"The Ice Cold Duke and the Slut of Gautier," Felix drawls. "Do you think Ashe has read a book about something like that before?" 

"No, but someone should write it." Sylvain cuddles closer. Felix is warmer than him and Sylvain's fingers and toes are cold. Felix only yelps a little when the icy appendages sneak against slivers of bare skin. 

He grumbles, but he doesn't push Sylvain back or demand that he remove his hands, so Sylvain counts it as a win. Felix's hair really is everywhere, and maybe Sylvain should be a little annoyed by the way that he's definitely going to end up with hair in his mouth in an unsexy way, but he doesn't care. He still feels the undercurrent of lust, probably will every time Felix looks at him, but it's secondary to a bone-deep pleasure that has his body soft and pliant. 

(Sylvain's never liked the snow. He much prefers the warmth inside and it's even better when he's besides his love.) 

"I'm never going to tire of you," Sylvain murmurs. "I'll never get sick of you." 

Felix sighs. "We'll see." 

"I won't," Sylvain promises. 

(He never does.)

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain and Felix get married. Their wedding night is spent seeing their favorite opera together and then cuddling all night (while arguing whether this version was better than the one they saw back on a school trip). They adopt a gaggle of children and, when Sylvain is the ripe old age of 103, die in their sleep together.
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](http://disasterfelixfraldarius.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ashes8012)~


End file.
